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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007338">Wind and Words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio/pseuds/clio'>clio</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>where the falling stars live [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:41:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio/pseuds/clio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He charts a course of apology across her skin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Omera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>where the falling stars live [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mandomera Week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wind and Words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set on Sorgan in a reality where Din ends up staying. </p><p>prompt: making Up</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for <span class="u">love</span>. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>- George R.R. Martin</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>By the time backup arrives, he already has the situation under control. Tossing the unconscious bodies in a heap, he re-holsters his blaster and waits for Caben and Stoke to arrive, their brandished weapons at the ready. Emerging from the tall grass, their hurried footsteps fall short just shy of the culprits.  </p><p>The last of the raiders.</p><p>In their final act of desperation.</p><p>“Is that all of them?”</p><p>He nods. “There shouldn’t be a problem after this.” </p><p>“You could have saved some action for us,” Caben frowns, poking at one of the raiders with his foot. Ever since their victory of the raiders several weeks ago, he’s taken up patrolling at all hours of the day, eager to prove himself once more in battle. </p><p>“We can take it from here,” Stoke pipes up. “Thanks, Mando.” </p><p>He simply nods and makes his way back to the village. A crowd has gathered at its edge, peering up at him as he passes. There is no shortage of awe and children peek behind their mother’s skirts to witness the Mandalorian’s triumphant return.</p><p>Winta is the first to run up to him, the green womp rat in her arms. </p><p>“That was so cool!” she exclaims excitedly. The child is wiggling in her grasp, eager to go to him, so Din takes the kid from her and tucks him into the crook of his arm. The adrenaline of combat is beginning to fade into something more reserved. A little more thoughtful.</p><p>“You alright?” he asks the kid and receives a cheerful chirp in response. He glances at Winta, giving her a once over.</p><p>“We’re <em>all</em> fine,” she declares with a long-suffering huff before he even has a chance to ask. “You got them before they even got close to the village.” </p><p>He nods, satisfied with the information.</p><p>But then the crowd dissipates, and <em> she’s </em> there, a grim expression on her face.</p><p>“You’re hurt,” Omera states, eyeing the rip across his sleeve, just below the edge of his armor. Angry and oozing, it looks worse than it feels. </p><p>He hadn’t even registered the injury.</p><p>“Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up,” she says in a tone that will brook no opposition, turning on her heel and walking away. “Winta, you and the boy finish your dinner and chores in the long hall.” </p><p>Din looks over at Winta, who seems to be wincing. “Uh oh,” she sing songs, collecting the child and sending him a sympathetic look. “Good luck,” she whispers before darting off. </p><p>Confused by this, he turns to follow Omera home. </p><p>When he arrives, it is to the sight of her banging around the hearth, pulling out various containers of medical supplies. </p><p>He takes a few tentative steps inside, the fabric over the doorway falling down behind him.  </p><p>“It’s just a flesh wound,” he starts, trying to ease her worry. “It doesn’t even hurt.”</p><p>To which Omera just slams a bowl on the table and pours water into it with a surprising amount of force. He watches as water sloshes over its sides. </p><p>“Off,” she commands, gesturing to his armor. A quick check around the room reveals that the windows have already been pulled shut for the evening. He pads over to the table where she stands waiting, a stern look settled across her features.</p><p>He pulls off his helmet. </p><p>“I don’t understand,” he states carefully. “Are you mad at me?”</p><p>It is a novel idea. </p><p>They’ve never fought before. Never had so much as a disagreement. He isn’t even sure this would even be considered a fight, but Omera has never behaved this way with him before and, given his limited experience, he has no idea what to make of it. Call it a gut feeling, but he has it on good opinion that she is upset, even angry at him, but he is baffled as to the reason, and more so, how to get back in her good graces.</p><p>Instead of responding, Omera begins tugging at his armor, by now knowing her way around all the clasps and closures, her nimble fingers sliding off piece by piece with adept precision. </p><p>“I’m not mad at you,” she replies quietly after he’s stripped down to the waist, his armor laid carefully on the table. Peeling back his flight suit and under garments reveals bruised skin along his shoulder and a long gash across his bicep towards his elbow. </p><p>Omera frowns, turning from him and dipping a cloth in the water to clean the wound. Whatever fight she might have had in her has all but drained from her body and, in its place, there is even more startling. There is an acute sense of sorrow in her movements, in the downward turn of the corners of her mouth, in the fullness of her dark eyes. </p><p>“I can do it myself,” he blurts, a hand reaching out to cover hers. “If it upsets you this much, I can take care of it.”</p><p>If possible, that makes things worse. </p><p>Omera snatches her hand away, tossing the cloth down on the table and reaching for the small container of balm. She shoots him a hard look before rubbing the salve between her fingers and slathering it onto the wound. He can feel its healing properties at work almost immediately and he is grateful for the momentarily distraction from a situation where he feels increasingly out of his depth.</p><p>When she dresses the wound, wrapping a gauze around his arm, Omera tugs too tightly, causing him to wince. </p><p>“All done,” she announces, turning away from him. “You’ll live another day to put your life on the line.”</p><p>He’s caught so off guard by her words, it is all he can do to just blink at her. </p><p>“Omera?”</p><p>She busies herself by cleaning up, replacing supplies and storing them. Gathering his wits, he approaches her from behind, placing a light touch against her arm and then, when she doesn’t pull away, dipping his head to rest his forehead on her shoulder. </p><p>She smells of lavender, and the scent never fails to bring him comfort. </p><p>“Omera?” he says quietly. “Please.” </p><p>And he can see how she crumbles, one hand coming up to press against her eyes as the other grabs onto his hand on her arm. He can hear her struggle against her breath, against her vulnerability, and it tugs deeply at him. </p><p>He doesn’t know what is wrong, but he will do anything to fix what is broken. </p><p>Finally, Omera turns to face him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. </p><p>He wants to comfort her, kiss away her sadness, but he isn’t confident that that is what she needs from him. So he lets his hands fall to his sides, braces himself with a practiced discipline as he waits for her to open up to him. </p><p>“You’re always so eager,” she starts. “Whenever there’s the first sign of trouble, you’re always the first one out there.” </p><p>Here, Omera is forced to pause, the tremble of her lip very nearly getting the best of her. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to see you always so eager to risk your life?” </p><p>He is stunned. </p><p>“There wasn’t time,” he begins, trying to explain what happened earlier. “They were already past the tree line. I had to act quickly.”</p><p>Omera shakes her head. “Caben and Stoke were right there next to you, but you decided to go on without them,” she points out. “You always do. It’s always <em>you</em>.”</p><p>He doesn’t quite know what to say to this.</p><p>“I know you were brought here to protect us,” she goes on. “And that you have all this experience and skill that, I’m sure, makes you feel responsible for us. We are so grateful, please don’t misunderstand, but it doesn’t have to just be you. Caben and Stoke want to help. So do others.”</p><p>He hadn’t considered this. Having mostly worked alone, or with others of comparable skill, he hadn’t realized that perhaps he was preventing others from gaining experience to become better fighters. That he had been willfully denying them the opportunity to protect their own. He is immediately unmoored by the revelation. </p><p>“Meanwhile, I have to watch you go, every single time hoping you’ll make it back in one piece. Wondering if this is going to be the last time I see you. If this time you won’t be so lucky. And what I’d even say to Winta, or stars forbid, <em> your boy</em>, should something happen to you.” </p><p>He wants to tell her that she doesn’t need to worry, that nothing is going to happen to him. But he knows that it is a false statement. Just empty words. He knows, full well, just how human he is.</p><p>“I didn’t think about it that way,” he says instead. </p><p>“Do you miss it?” Omera asks tightly. “The guild. The hunt. We don’t get much action around here, despite what you’ve seen. And it might be too different from what you’re used to, to what you thought it would be. So if you’ve changed your mind—”</p><p>His heart lurches at her implication.</p><p>“Omera, no,” he declares with an insistence that surprises even him. “I haven’t.”</p><p>Needing to feel grounded, he reaches for her hands, cradles them against his bare chest. Skin to skin, he relishes in her touch, in the physical connection they share. </p><p>“I don’t miss it. I haven’t changed my mind,” he asserts, needing her to believe him. He doesn’t want to leave any room for doubt—not in his affection for her nor in his commitment to this new thing they’re building together. This unspeakable, unnamed thing that nevertheless has decided to take up residence in his chest, that has found a way to resonate through his entire being. </p><p>“I just… it’s the only way I know,” he confesses quietly. “I need you and the kids safe.”  </p><p>Omera’s eyes seem to swim with emotion. “But we need <em>you</em>. Alive, and here with us,” she whispers. “I know this is all so new to you, but next time you go running off to endanger your life, would you please consider that you’re also risking our hearts too?” </p><p>Her naked fear threatens to take his breath away.</p><p>For the very first time, he realizes that as much as he worries about her and Winta and the child, has given over to the feelings he carries for them and how they make him vulnerable—he begins to understand that deepening affections and growing connections is a two-way street. And the realization washes over him that, just as he would be devastated should anything happen to any one of them, they might be just as devastated to lose <em> him</em>.</p><p>It is enough to break his heart.</p><p>He clears his throat. “I’ll talk to Caben and Stoke tomorrow,” he manages. “We’ll work it out.”</p><p>Omera gives him a look of gratitude mixed with remorse. “Thank you,” she replies. “I know it isn’t easy for you.” </p><p>“I’m still learning,” he says ruefully, full of shame and guilt for not understanding sooner what he was putting her through.  </p><p>Seeking connection and desiring forgiveness, he steps closer, he lets his forehead drop softly to hers. He’s never explained what this means, the intimacy of this simple gesture, but he has a feeling that she’s aware of its significance regardless. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.</p><p>Omera reaches up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth in response.</p><p>But before he knows it, they are seeking each other out, his lips finding hers in desperation, her hands threading through the ends of his hair as she pulls him down to her. He moans into her kiss and wonders if it is always going to be like this between them. This spark. This fire.</p><p>They fall back against a nearby wall, Omera’s shoulders braced against a beam. </p><p>“Din,” she pleads, pressing herself into him, her hands moving over his shoulders, tracing over the muscles of his back. </p><p>Their layers are shed in quick order.</p><p>He manages to tug her dress up over her head, exposing all her beautiful tanned skin to him. Omera sighs as he mouths over the edges of her shoulders, down the valley of her collarbones, dipping into her clavicle.</p><p>He charts a course of apology across her skin. </p><p>“We don’t have a lot of time,” she voices breathlessly, hoisting her leg over his hip.  </p><p>When he slides into her, he muffles his moan against the side of her neck. Omera tosses her head back against the beam that supports them, her eyes closed in pleasure and bottom lip caught between her teeth. He lets out a soft grunt as they begin to move together.</p><p>He can’t quite place it, but it feels different than all other times together. Rushed and frantic, there is wild kind of urgency to their movement, in the way they seek to lay claim to one another and know that they are here in this moment together. </p><p>Chest to chest</p><p>Heart to heart</p><p>He doesn’t think there is a reality in which he will ever tire of being this close to her. </p><p>Omera rakes her nails across the curve of his spine. </p><p>His grip on her hips tightens.</p><p>It is her and only her that can make him feel so reckless, drive him towards such unrestrained desire, that can wreck him so completely. He chants her name against her skin and it sounds like a prayer. She kisses him soundly and it feels like absolution. </p><p>He can feel that familiar tightness, knows that he is close.</p><p>Omera slips a hand between them, her fingers making quick work of it as she arches up against him, her breath stalling for a moment before it’s his name falling from her lips.</p><p>No, he thinks, he will always have time for this. </p><p>He quickly follows her over the edge, his very legs threatening to give out from under him. </p><p>When it is all over and Omera is looking up at him with a delirious sort of contentment in her eyes, it occurs to him that he’s never thought about his life in the long-term before, but, as he considers her warm smile, he realizes that he has more of a reason than ever to guard his back, to make sure he sticks around. He wants to nurture this small precious start and give it its best chance to become long-standing and enduring. For Omera, Winta, the kid, yes—but for himself too. He wants to be there for everything, all the silly, happy days, the misunderstandings and disagreements, and the moments of stillness, of silence. And, of course, a thousands more moments with Omera just like this. He gently takes her hand in his and it feels a lot like hope.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know I know, this barely counts as nsfw but I really wanted to write on this prompt! Also, this is the last of my mandomera week stories (late, but on brand). I <i>also</i> know that I said I would also write for day 3 (reunion) but the vibe of that one is just...really different from the rest of these stories and I want to keep things light and breezy (and tender and full of feelings, ya know?) here. </p><p>Anyway, I've had great fun with these prompts! If you've made it this far, thank you! And to everyone who has sent me a comment, thank you thank you! As a new writer for this fandom, I have to admit that I was incredibly nervous, and you all have brought me great comfort.<br/><a href="https://clio-in-retrograde.tumblr.com/">clio on tumblr </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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